


Mr. John Doe (How Do You Know You're Still Breathing? )

by Zaikyo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-03 14:04:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaikyo/pseuds/Zaikyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Sherlock aquires an unassigned number and decides to use it as a makeshift diary. When one day the number texts back, life is never quite the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You're Quiet, I Like You

I don't have friends. -SH

What I mean is, I don't require friendship. -SH

Well no. -SH

Perhaps I meant it the first way. -SH

\-------

My brother is a git. -SH

He tells me I am in need of someone to consult with. A confidant of sorts. -SH

I don't have friends as I have stated before. But I believe the sharing of personal woes is one of the benefits of having friends. -SH

\-------

Friends are overrated. -SH

\-------

Talking to someone who doesn't exist is much easier. They can't judge you. Can't laugh at you. -SH

\-------

I guess you're a friend-substitute of sorts. -SH

\-------

I hate school. -SH

What the hell do I need to know about parliament for? It's got nothing to do with me. -SH

School is boring. -SH

\-------

I got bad marks on my government exam. -SH

In all honesty I hadn't studied at all. Why bother, I'll just delete it later. -SH

It's useless. It's all useless. -SH

The class, I mean. -SH

Maybe I don't mean that. -SH

Maybe it really is all useless. -SH

\-------

Why do they keep asking me what I want to do with my life? Who cares? -SH

I don't know what I want to do for the rest of my life. If I did I certainly wouldn't tell them. -SH

Everyone but me is stupid. -SH

Even you. -SH

\-------

Anderson is a git. -SH

How can he be angry with me for correcting his thesis statement? -SH

He was wrong. -SH

I did him a favor. -SH

\-------

They locked me in the janitorial closet again. -SH

I waited late for Mycroft to find me. -SH

I'd left my phone in my bag in class. -SH

I would've texted you. -SH

I don't know why, I feel like you would've cared. -SH

\-------

I think I have an importance complex. -SH

\-------

Donovan called me a machine today. -SH

She can piss off. -SH

What the fuck does she matter? -SH

Why am I crying? -SH

Crying is weak. -SH

\-------

I think you would be good at soccer. -SH

\-------

I don't know why I said that. -SH

\-------

I think I like you. -SH

Thanks for listening to me. -SH

\-------

London looks like a rustic Lego Land. -SH

I bet you no one's said that before. -SH

Ha. -SH

\-------

Anderson should shut the fuck up. -SH

His stupidity brings the room's overall IQ to a staggering low. -SH

\-------

Sometimes I don't know how to be happy. -SH

It's rather hard, I suppose. -SH

I don't know, I think you make me happy. -SH

\-------

Mycroft asked me who I've been texting. -SH

I told him to go shag a tree. -SH

His face was quite priceless. -SH

You'd think he actually shags trees. -SH

He probably does. -SH

\-------

I'm worthless. -SH

\-------

If you were real you'd hate me. -SH

That's okay, everyone hates me. -SH

\-------

You should see London today. The sun has been out for almost six hours straight. -SH

It's hateful. -SH

The Legos are falling, John. -SH

\-------

I didn't mean to do that. -SH

To give you a name, I mean. -SH

John seems fitting. -SH

Like a John Doe. -SH

\-------

John.

\-------

Anderson took my phone. -SH

He threw it from the upstairs chemistry lab window. -SH

Lestrade told him off. -SH

The screen is cracked. -SH

Father says he'll buy me another one. -SH

I don't think I want another. -SH

\-------

Mycroft saw me crying in my room. -SH

Stupid git. -SH

I'll lock my door from now on. -SH

\-------

No one wants me around. -SH

I don't blame them. -SH

I am a freak. -SH

\-------

I think S. Brook's 6th Symphony would suit you.-SH

It's rather nostalgic. Reminiscent. -SH

You should listen to it sometime, John. -SH

\-------

Maybe I should disappear. -SH

\-------

I think maybe I should. -SH

I don't think you should. -JW

\-------

A crippling start, Sherlock threw his mobile across the bedroom. It landed against the face of a tall dresser and fell to the floor, crack of hard plastic over wood paneling loud and infinity jarring.

There wasn't supposed to be a reply. There wasn't supposed to be anyone on the other end. Sherlock was supposed to be talking to no one and the fact that no one turned out to be someone was frightening beyond actual comprehension.

 

He took a few staggered breaths before tossing a discarded shirt over the thing,

Sherlock refused to pick his phone from the floor for days.


	2. I Like You, You're Different

I don't have friends. -SH

_What?_

What I mean is, I don't require friendship. -SH

_Who is...?_

_Wrong number?_

Well no. -SH

_No? No what?_

Perhaps I meant it the first way. -SH

 _Oh._  
\-------

My brother is a git. -SH

_That isn't very kind._

He tells me I am in need of someone to consult with. A confidant of sorts. -SH

_You mean like... a friend?_

I don't have friends as I have stated before. But I believe the sharing of personal woes is one of the benefits of having friends. -SH

 _That's one of them, yes._  
\-------

Friends are overrated. -SH

 _You're wrong._  
\-------

Talking to someone who doesn't exist is much easier. They can't judge you. Can't laugh at you. -SH

 _I exist. And I wouldn't do that anyway._  
\-------

I guess you're a friend-substitute of sorts. -SH

_Thanks._

_I think._  
\-------

I hate school. -SH

_It's alright._

What the hell do I need to know about parliament for? It's got nothing to do with me. -SH

_I don't know, it's rather important._

School is boring. -SH

 _Well I can't argue with that._  
\-------

I got bad marks on my government exam. -SH

_That's a bit not good._

In all honesty I hadn't studied at all. Why bother, I'll just delete it later. -SH

_Delete it?_

It's useless. It's all useless. -SH

_What's useless?_

The class, I mean. -SH

_Oh._

Maybe I don't mean that. -SH

_What do you mean, then?_

Maybe it really is all useless. -SH

 _I promise it isn't._  
\-------

Why do they keep asking me what I want to do with my life? Who cares? -SH

_Lots of people. Me, for instance._

I don't know what I want to do for the rest of my life. If I did I certainly wouldn't tell them. -SH

_They just want to help._

Everyone but me is stupid. -SH

_I wouldn't say that._

Even you. -SH

 _Well._  
\-------

Anderson is a git. -SH

_Who?_

How can he be angry with me for correcting his thesis statement? -SH

_Don't let it bother you._

He was wrong. -SH

_I believe you._

I did him a favor. -SH

 _I know._  
\-------

They locked me in the janitorial closet again. -SH

_What? Who? Anderson?_

I waited late for Mycroft to find me. -SH

_Why didn't you call someone?_

I'd left my phone in my bag in class. -SH

_Oh._

I would've texted you. -SH

_Oh!_

I don't know why, I feel like you would've cared. -SH

_I would have._

_I do._  
\-------

I think I have an importance complex. -SH

 _I think you should stop thinking for a bit._  
\-------

Donovan called me a machine today. -SH

_She doesn't know what she's talking about._

She can piss off. -SH

_That's the spirit!_

What the fuck does she matter? -SH

_Nothing at all._

Why am I crying? -SH

_What?_

_Please don't,_

_Please don't cry._

Crying is weak. -SH

 _You aren't weak._  
\-------

I think you would be good at soccer. -SH

 _How did you know...?_  
\-------

I don't know why I said that. -SH

 _I like that you did._  
\-------

I think I like you. -SH

....

_I_

_I think I like you._

_Yeah._

_I do._

Thanks for listening to me. -SH

 _Thanks for talking to me._  
\-------

London looks like a rustic Lego Land. -SH

_What?_

_I suppose it rather does._

_Amazing._

I bet you no one's said that before. -SH

_No one's ever been quite as brilliant as you._

Ha. -SH

 _You're quite clever, my friend._  
\-------

Anderson should shut the fuck up. -SH

_I agree._

His stupidity brings the room's overall IQ to a staggering low. -SH

 _How rude of him._  
\-------

Sometimes I don't know how to be happy. -SH

_I know how you feel._

It's rather hard, I suppose. -SH

_But not impossible._

I don't know, I think you make me happy. -SH

....

 _You make me happy, too._  
\-------

Mycroft asked me who I've been texting. -SH

_What did you tell him?_

I told him to go shag a tree. -SH

_Oh. Well then._

His face was quite priceless. -SH

_Oh?_

You'd think he actually shags trees. -SH

_Ha!_

He probably does. -SH

 _You're alright, mate._  
\-------

I'm worthless. -SH

 _No one is worthless._  
\-------

If you were real you'd hate me. -SH

_I wouldn't._

That's okay, everyone hates me. -SH

 _I don't._  
\-------

You should see London today. The sun has been out for almost six hours straight. -SH

_It's beautiful, isn't it?_

It's hateful. -SH

_You just aren't looking at it right._

The Legos are falling, John. -SH

 _How do you know my name?_  
\-------

I didn't mean to do that. -SH

_Do what?_

To give you a name, I mean. -SH

_Give me a... do you mean John?_

John seems fitting. -SH

_Ha. You'd be surprised._

Like a John Doe. -SH

_Oh._

_Clever._  
\-------

John.

 _I'm here._  
\-------

Anderson took my phone. -SH

_He's a fucking twat._

He threw it from the upstairs chemistry lab window. -SH

_Punch him. Just punch him for me._

Lestrade told him off. -SH

_Good. That bloke's okay._

The screen is cracked. -SH

_I'm sorry._

Father says he'll buy me another one. -SH

_Well that's good._

I don't think I want another. -SH

 _Oh._  
\-------

Mycroft saw me crying in my room. -SH

_You were crying?_

Stupid git. -SH

_But he means well._

I'll lock my door from now on. -SH

 _Don't... Don't do anything rash._  
\-------

No one wants me around. -SH

_I want you around._

I don't blame them. -SH

_I need you around._

I am a freak. -SH

 _Dammit!_  
\-------

I think S. Brook's 6th Symphony would suit you.-SH

_Haven't heard it. I'll look it up now._

It's rather nostalgic. Reminiscent. -SH

 _Am I nostalgic?_  

You should listen to it sometime, John. -SH

 _I am. It's beautiful._  
\-------

Maybe I should disappear. -SH

 _Please... Please don't._  
\-------

I think maybe I should. -SH

_Don't._

_Don't, you hear me?_

_I fucking swear you better not—_

_Hold on._  
   
I don't think you should. -JW

_You stupid kid._

_I'm here._

_I care._  
\-------

John waited hours for a reply.

Days.

A week.

John waited.

And waited.

To the sound of loneliness and silence.


	3. The Inertia of Things

Eight days was his limit. Eight days of nothing, not a single word. His mobile would ring; it would turn out to be a mate from school or his sister, never the right person. The silence was unsettling, and it drove John into subconscious fits of pacing, jumping at every sound that resembled the chime of a phone and he couldn't let _go_ of the bloody thing. Everywhere he went the phone went with, and John had never been one to depend on something as trivial as a piece of plastic and wiring. He couldn't miss anything, not that there had been anything to miss but _just in case_. The day he set it down could very well be the day it rang and then--

What, exactly, John hadn't really thought of quite yet.

But it had been _eight days._ John could never quite peg what it was the nagged him so; this situation wasn't familiar, the entity in question far from any other person he had ever come into contact with. Yet he jogged about these bothersome thoughts with personal acquaintance as if he knew the dangers of it first hand. As if he knew, over a week of no word from this nameless, faceless ghost, meant bad things.

John didn't know that at all. But it didn't stop the panic.

On the ninth day it was everything John could do to stop himself from checking his phone, despite the fact that it wasn't actually ringing. He opened a new draft multiple times, began to write things that didn't make any sense, deleted them all. The itch to hear something, _anything_ from the kid on the other end of a blank screen was becoming an all consuming thing and it wound John up in ugly knots. He was losing here, losing a war he hadn't even enlisted in and the only way to win was to send a fucking text but _how_ to even begin something like this? Where was the normalcy in any of it?

John sighed and slumped further into the plush of his mattress, eying up at the phone in his hands with itching frustration.

He could send a text. He _should._ But what would he say?

Behind him the sound of a car alarm erupted in violent squeals outside his window. There was the voice of a woman-- probably an early morning drunk-- tossing profanities at whomever it was to cause the incident. Loud and disrupting, as things tended to be throughout the streets of London, it unsettled John's nerves.

But in an instant, something much like an epiphany struck, and John-- for maybe the sixth time that day-- opened his phone to a new draft. Only this time, he sent it.

It came when young Sherlock had curled himself into the small nook of his bedroom, fingers steady under a book of great chemistry blunders and misconceptions. The sound. Although it was something much more than a sound, really. An alarm or a siren. It shook Sherlock from his poised concentration and into a state of frozen panic. Of fear.

It hadn't rung for days. Sherlock hadn't wanted it to. By day four of it sitting, unmoved on the floor, Mycroft had had to place the mobile on its charger himself, all the while babbling the tired rhetoric about emergencies and the necessity that Sherlock at least _try_ to keep some form of communication outlet between he and the outside world. It was garbage, every word of it. Sherlock knew that. Mycroft too. In all honesty, the elder brother just wanted to see Sherlock pick up the phone and text that mysterious entity he'd been so enthralled with just a week ago. Perhaps he had a girlfriend? Maybe they'd had a spat? Mycroft wouldn't ask; that was sure to get him nowhere. But he secretly hoped Sherlock would return to their conversations; there was a happiness there, or at least a content-ness, which never existed before. Mycroft ached to see that return.

Sherlock eyed the white and chrome little box atop his dresser from across the room. It lit for about thirty seconds before dimming down and then completely out. For a minute or two he didn't stir, eyes locked on the same thing as if he expected it to grow fangs and swallow him whole. Nothing inanimate had ever been so quietly menacing.

It wasn't anyone else. Mycroft didn't text, his parents didn't even call. The only alternative was the simplest and for the first time ever Sherlock wondered if there could be a fault within the dictation of the probable. And it was such an odd thing, because in a certain sense, all young Sherlock had wanted was for his John Doe to speak again. To say _anything_. To still be there. Inversely, the prospect of that frightened him above anything else.

He'd prattled away to this mystery person like one would a diary. Granted the number had been unassigned when Sherlock had acquired, but somehow now it certainly wasn't. How much had he read? How long had Sherlock been rambling before he began listening in? The thought was agonizing. He'd spilled all of his secrets to ears no doubt fit to betray him, much like everyone else. What would come now?

The answer, painfully simple as it could be placed, lied just across Sherlock's room, now quiet and still above his dresser.

If he turned back now he could avoid it. The sure-to-be-there ridicule and judgement, Sherlock could block the number and never look back.

But something held his attention on it. Curiosity or masochism, maybe an ideal combination of the two. Whatever it was it bore its own gravitational pull, and Sherlock felt himself uncurling from his safe nest in the corner of his room, and padding over to stand awkwardly over the thing before picking it up and cradling it between his fingers. It took him a bit to gather his courage.

Three seconds.

Five seconds.

Twenty.

Until finally impulse won over and he unlocked the screen to find one message waiting in simple black text.

 

The legos need stacking. -JW

 

Sherlock felt something tug at his chest and he had to take a breath before the process of analyzing the situation ensued. It wasn't anything, it really wasn't. Just a reply to a metaphor Sherlock hadn't even expected anyone to get. People weren't clever, not like he. But this person was something else entirely. And his choice of words— it pulled at Sherlock from the inside, made something swell in the center of his stomach and for a fraction of a second he would swear his heart felt warmer than usual.

Sentiment. But oddly enough, it was a brand of sentiment which Sherlock could anticipate finding pleasure in more of. And that was terrifying, really. But so was everything else.

He thought for a moment before replying. What he wanted to say was,

 

"Does this make us friends?"

 

What it came out as was,

 

If I rebuild them, will you help me? -SH

 

Only that must have made some kind of sense, because the reply he received almost instantly was,

Don't be an idiot. -JW

And then right after,

I've already got the floor plan ready. -JW

 

And that was honestly it. The start of it. What presented itself after that would be the beginning of something astounding, and unlike anything Sherlock or John would have ever deemed plausible. And maybe that was the point.

For the next few weeks they were something like inseparable.

 

So tell me again how you knew my name? -JW

I've told you before, John. It was honestly a coincidence. -SH

Right. -JW

But you don't believe in coincidences. -JW

I don't. -SH

So... fate then? -JW

Don't be absurd, John. There's no such thing as predetermined action. -SH

Well why not? -JW

What? -SH

Why can't their be, I don't know, some force that's already planned everything out? -JW

Are you actually asking me a theological question? -SH

Maybe. -JW

John, please. -SH

Well how did you get this number? -JW

List of unassigned number combinations, it isn't hard to find. -SH

Right. -JW

And that's neither coincidence nor fate. -JW

John. Really. -SH  
\--------

I need your help. -SH

Shoot. -JW

Explain the female mind to me -SH

.....what? -JW

You have experience in this. Explain your findings. -SH

I am not seriously going to have the talk with you. -JW

"The talk"? -SH

Go to bed, Sherlock. -JW

Fine. -SH

\--------

_You have received a photo message._

Sherlock. What _is_ that? -JW

My experiment. -SH

That's a bird carcass. -JW

Our cat mutilated it's exterior and brought it inside. I've been studying the bodily rate of decay. -SH

We honestly have to work on your hobbies. -JW

What's wrong with my hobbies? -SH

Too many dead things. Have you tried sports? -JW

No good. -SH

I bet if you had someone to show you you would do well. -JW

Mycroft doesn't play sports. -SH

So then I'll show you one day. -JW

...

I'd like that. -SH

\--------

Why did you want to know about girls before? Is there someone you like? -JW

No. -SH

I've never liked girls. -SH

Oh! -JW

Boys then? -JW

I've never liked _anyone._ -SH

Well, I like you. -SH

I think you're using the wrong like. -JW

There's only one like, John. -SH

...

Maybe you're right. -JW

I'm always right. -SH

Let's not push it. -JW

\--------

Are you watching this? -JW

Watching what? -SH

This awful drama, I swear it's a crap show. -JW

You know I don't watch telly, John. -SH

You should watch this. It's awful. -JW

Why would I watch something awful? -SH

Clearly you've never experienced crap telly. The bad is what makes it good. -JW

That's a paradox. -SH

Just watch it, -JW

-

-

-

IT WAS HER SISTER, JOHN. HOW CAN SHE NOT SEE THAT? -SH

THE BLOOD IS RIGHT THERE ON HER JACKET. -SH

IT'S SO OBVIOUS. -SH

-

HE HAS THE BOX IN HIS HAND. -SH

LOOK BEHIND HIS BACK, WOMAN. -SH

IS SHE BLIND? -SH

-

THATS CLEARLY RACHEL'S INFANT CHILD THEY HAVE THE SAME IRISES. -SH  
...

I take it back, don't watch crap telly. -JW

Too late. -SH

\--------

There's a festival next weekend, have you heard? -JW

Yes, in Manchester. It was in the newspaper this morning. -SH

Well, we should go. -JW

Go? -SH

Yes, _go._ As in you and I. We can meet. -JW

Oh. -SH

I would like that. -SH

Very much, actually. -SH

Great! How about noon? -JW

That is fine. -SH

Good. I look forward to it. -JW

I look forward to it as well. -SH

\--------

It was hard for either to admit, even to themselves, that the tremor pulsing currents down their spines was from nerves. They had spoken about meeting, never at length, always in passing. But it had never really occurred to them as a tangible thought. More of just an idea, really. Only now it was a thing, a thing that was very real and very much happening.

 

Sherlock spent that entire evening trying to analyze the irregular rhythm of his heart, while John wondered with growing confusion why it felt as if he had just asked someone out on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly so sorry guys, I know this is late. I've been wrapped up in so much I had set this aside. Hopefully the next chapter is quicker?

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by un-sent letters written to someone I hardly knew.


End file.
